The CLAIM. 1665.
To my honoured friend Sir Clifford Clifton.
To whom is dedicated the ensuing Poem.
SIR, I present you here with nothing new;
Since what I write now, all before-time knew.
Your Father's merits were i' th' last Age known;
And shall be, when this and the next is gone.
In such Records they need not up be laid;
Tho Kings, nay Gods, of old, have crav'd that aid.
Tradition will preserve it; whence may come
More good, and wonder, than from those of Rome.
Yet ev'ry Poet now should have a fling:
As ev'ry bungling Painter draws the King.
But I presume so much of Art to own,
To say the Picture's like, tho faintly drawn.
If it be bigger made, than others drew;
It is that I grieve more than others do.